“‘The next morning, in grief and anger, he entered Orto San Michele, and, without any candle, he went directly to the picture, and, without kneeling, broke forth in these words: “_Io ti disgrazio_—I dislike, disown, and despise thee, and will return here no more. Five-and-twenty years have I worshipped thee and never asked for anything before, and now thou dost refuse me my request. If I had only gone to the great crucifix there, I daresay I should have got all I wanted; but this is what comes of trusting to a mere child, for, as the proverb says, _Chi s’impaccia con fanciulli_, _con fanciulli si ritrova_—he who troubles himself with children will himself be treated as a child.’” * * * * * It is worth remarking, as regards the tone and character of this tale, that such freedom was commonest when people were most devout. The most sceptical critics generally agree that these stories of Piovano Arlotto are authentic, having been dictated by him, and that he had a very exceptional character in his age for morality, honesty, and truth. He himself declared, without being contradicted, that he was the only priest of whom he knew who did not keep a mistress; and yet this story is simply an average specimen of the two hundred connected with his name, and that they in turn are identical in character with all the popular wit and humour of the time. Regarding the image of the Holy Blacksmith, Saint Eligius or Eloi, the authors of “Walks in Florence” say that it is attributed to Nanni di Banco, and is meagre and stiff, but has dignity, which accords admirably with the character of most saints, or their ideals. It is evident that the _bon roi_ Dagobert was considered as the type of all that was free and easy— “Le bon roi Dagobert Mettait son culotte a l’envers.” Therefore he is contrasted with the very dignified Saint Eloy, who was (like the breeches) quite the reverse, declining to lend the monarch two sous, which Dagobert had ascertained were in the holy man’s possession. “The bas-relief below,” continue the critics cited, “is more certainly by the hand of Nanni. It records a miracle of Saint Eloy, who one day, when shoeing a restive horse which was possessed by a demon, and was kicking and plunging, cut off the animal’s leg to fasten the shoe, and having completed his task, made the sign of the cross and restored the severed limb.” I regret to say that this was written without careful reference to the original. It was not the _leg_ of the horse which was severed, nor a limb, but only the hoof at the pastern joint. There is yet another explanation of this bas-relief, which I have somewhere read, but cannot now recall—more’s the pity, because it is the true one, as I remember, and one accounting for the presence of the female saint who is standing by, evidently invisibly. Perhaps some reader who knows Number Four will send it to me for a next edition.